Rosemary
by Eclectic Butterfly
Summary: Rosemary Lawson had no desire to leave San Francisco, but her father wanted to mine for silver. This brave young woman's life changes in ways she never expected, and she finds friends in the most unlikely of places. Based on S1E5: Enter Mark Twain
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: The first time I saw Enter Mark Twain, my imagination was caught by Rosemary Lawson. I was unhappy that her character's story was left unresolved at the end of the episode. Unwilling to allow this brave young woman to be merely a plot device, I took it upon myself to tell what I imagine her story to be. It ended up longer than I expected and I hope you enjoy it! **_

_**On a more personal note, please see the message on my profile.**_

* * *

The day my father told me we were going to mine for silver, my first thought was that he was joking. After all, why would he want to leave the comfortable life we had in San Francisco? He had his teaching job at the boys' school and had always seemed to really enjoy instructing his students. We wanted for nothing and, in fact, had a more comfortable life than many could claim.

"When should I have the bags packed?" I responded, bustling around our tiny kitchen. I had been kept longer at the orphanage than I had intended and was extremely grateful I had had the foresight to put together a stew in the morning. I tasted it, savoring the rich taste that had been simmering all day. "Mmm. Perfect."

"Oh, I imagine a month from now will give us plenty of time to get everything we need for the journey and to sell what we don't need here," Daddy answered in an off hand way.

That specific time frame and the mention of selling our belongings gave me pause. Frowning, I glanced over my shoulder. My father was sitting at the table, surrounded by essays he was supposed to be grading. In his hand was a small flyer and he was giving it all his attention, instead of the work of his students.

"You're not serious," I said, unable to think of anything else to say. How could he be serious? Being in San Francisco was the only life I had ever known. "There's no silver to mine in San Francisco."

"Obviously we'll have to go where there are silver mines," Daddy responded, patiently. "Virginia City in the Nevada territory is where all of the action is taking place these days, Rosie girl. We'd be fools not to take advantage of it when it's really not that far away."

Oh, dear. This was more serious than I'd thought. "Daddy, you haven't been reading more of those silly flyers, have you?" I asked, walking over to his side. I took the flyer from his hand, scanned it, and then crumpled the paper. "You have always said these things are made up of more lies than the truth."

"Rosemary Kathleen Lawson!" my father protested, prying the now wrinkled paper from me. He smoothed it out. "I've heard it from several reliable sources. Of course I know the flyers exaggerate things, just a bit, but there is silver to be found. And I want to be part of it."

"But...why?" I asked. I didn't understand. Never before had Father even mentioned wanting to mine for a precious metal. He'd been content with teaching, or so I had always believed. I collapsed into the other chair at the table and reached out to curl my fingers around his. "Daddy, why?"

Daddy squeezed my fingers a moment before gently pulling free. "Haven't you ever dreamed of doing something more, Rosie girl?" he asked. "To see what life is like outside of tall buildings?"

He knew I had, but that's all it had ever been: a dream to think about late at night. Along with the beauty of the mountains and the claims of wealth to just be picked up as you walked along, I'd heard what life was like in those mining towns with rough men, no reliable lawmen, and no respectable women. How could the beauty possible outweigh the bad?

"This isn't just something you're considering, is it?" I asked hopefully. Maybe there was a chance I could talk him out of it, that I could appeal to his friends in the academic field to talk some sense into him. "I know it sounds appealing, but surely there are some dreams that aren't meant to be."

"Never trying is the surest way to fail, Rosie," he responded. "I've made up my mind. Think of the better life we could have , once we have the silver. We'll be a part of making history."

"Daddy, please," I begged desperately. "Would Mama have wanted this?"

Maybe it was cruel of me to bring my mother into it. It had been only five years since she'd passed away from a fever and I missed her everyday. I knew Daddy did too. She'd been such a kind and sweet woman. Everyone who met her had adored her and they all mourned with Daddy and I when she passed on.

I could see the distant grief cross my father's face. "Yes, she would have," he insisted, shaking his head. His tone strengthened into one of determination. "Now don't argue with me anymore, Rosemary. I've already started the arrangements and given notice at the school."

Shocked at the finality of his statement, I stared at him. "Daddy-!"

"Enough, Rosemary!"

With a flinch, I pushed myself out of my chair. I walked out of the kitchen and into my room. I did not slam my door; I was old enough to keep from that display of childishness. However, I did throw myself onto my bed and buried my face into my pillow.

In one month, I would have to leave my home, my friends, and everything I had ever known. Part of me was furious with my father for not giving me more warning, but I did understand why he didn't. He must have known I would not take well to the news, which then begged the question of why he was insisting on going ahead with the venture.

Angry tears soaked my pillow that night and I did not leave my room to serve supper to Daddy. I could only assume he dished his stew himself or that he was so distracted by his new plans he forgot to eat.

I felt like my life had been thoroughly ruined.

* * *

Daddy left earlier than usual the next morning. I didn't make him breakfast, still feeling a little mutinous. _That_ was my childish response, and I knew I was being unreasonable. He could get his own coffee and pack his own lunch pail for once.

When I finally deigned to leave my room, I found a half burnt pot of stew on the stove where I had left it and had to toss all of the contents out. I then spent over an hour getting the pot cleaned. I knew, deep down, that it was my fault but it was just another mark against Daddy's crazy scheme. I put all of my anger and frustration into scrubbing the sides of the pot.

I needed to keep busy so near noon I left the apartment perfectly clean and made my way to the one place that I knew would always need an extra pair of hands: the orphanage. Strange as it may seem, the constant chatter of children's voices soothed me. The group of girls who exclaimed welcomes when they saw me touched my heart as always.

"Miss Lawson, I didn't think this is your usual days to come in."

A blush heated my cheeks as I looked up. Joshua Peters, the young, dark haired teacher who worked at the orphanage, was smiling at me. "It's not, Mr. Peters," I said as one of the girl's tugged on my hand to get my attention. "But here I am anyway."

He chuckled and nodded. "I think we will have to talk more about this later. It looks as though you're wanted."

The giggling girls pulled me away from Mr. Peters before I could form a response to that. I managed to send them off to get cleaned up for lunch and made my way to the kitchen. Mrs. Dawson, who ran the orphanage, was there, supervising the cook.

"Hello, Mrs. Dawson," I greeted when both women faced with surprised expressions. "Is there something I can do? I need to keep busy."

Mrs. Dawson, a woman I had known for most of my life who had been my mother's best friend, frowned in concern. "Yes, of course, Rosemary," she answered. "The younger ones will need to be put down for their nap." She patted my shoulder. "We can talk later if you want."

I nodded, relieved I had someone I could confide in. There were twenty toddlers who were too young to attend school and, as usual, every one of them resisted nap time. The hour it took for me to get all of them asleep left me more tired than any other day. Perhaps because I hadn't slept the night before.

A cup of coffee was waiting for me in Mrs. Dawson's office. "Out with it," the woman said when I sank into a chair opposite her. "You look awful, Rosemary. Tell me what's happened."

"Last night, my father has informed me that in a month, we are leaving San Francisco," I told her slowly. Somehow, saying it out loud, made it even more real. "He wants to mine silver in Virginia City."

Blinking, Mrs. Dawson set her cup down. "You're not serious."

"That's exactly what I said," I told her with a half-hearted laugh. I sipped my coffee, savoring the hot liquid. "I'm afraid my father is very serious. He has his heart set on mining silver. He's already started the arrangements and there wasn't a thing I could say to reason with him."

"And he's never said anything about this before?"

Shaking my head, I heaved a sigh. "Not a word," I answered. "I don't know what to do. I've heard such horrible things about the territory Virginia City is in, the violence and the criminals. How am I supposed to survive there?"

My friend reached over to pat my hand. "I have every confidence that you can survive whatever life throws at you," she told me. She hesitated for a moment and then asked, "Have you considered staying in San Francisco?"

Startled, I looked up. "What? Stay while my father leaves?" Honestly, the thought hadn't even occurred to me. "I couldn't! A young woman on her own? What would I possibly do to support myself? It's just impossible, Mrs. Dawson."

"No, I suppose it was a crazy idea," Mrs. Dawson admitted with a sigh. "I'd offer to make room for you here but it's already so crowded."

"I understand," I told her. "I can't imagine not seeing this place again."

"This place or a certain Mr. Peters?"

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Mrs. Dawson!" I protested in a horrified whisper. "Mr. Peters is a very kind friend and that is all. He has never indicated that he wishes anything more than friendship ."

Had I hoped for more? Certainly! But that was beside the point.

"Maybe if you gave him some encouragement?"

Emphatically, I shook my head. "I've seen what some girls consider 'encouraging' and I refuse to sink to that level," I told her. Heaving a sigh, I leaned back in my chair. "I suppose there is no other alternative. I will go with my father to the silver mines."

Mrs. Dawson shook her head. "It's not right. I've heard the stories from those mining fields. I cannot believe your father thinks it is the place to take you."

While it was a relief to be with someone who shared my opinion, there was a small part of me that rebelled against hearing Daddy spoken of in such a manner. "I suppose he believes he knows what is best, Mrs. Dawson," I said, forcing a smile. "I am probably overthinking this, and worrying over nothing. Thank you for hearing me out."

"I am delighted to do so, Rosemary," Mrs. Dawson responded, concern causing a crease between her eyes. "Your mother would have been so proud of you."

Mrs. Dawson was one of the few left who had known my mother. In fact, she had worked with my mother here in the orphanage. Hopefully, I met her gaze. "You really think so?"

"Of course. You're a good and dutiful girl. Any mother would be proud to claim you."

A blush heated up my cheeks. I finished my coffee and rose from the chair. "I ought to return home," I said. "I left it in such a state!"

The older woman laughed lightly and shook her head. "You had good reason to be out of sorts, and I'm sure once you have had the chance to discuss this with your father, you will find it not such a horrible future," she said, though there was no confidence in her voice. "As soon as you know more, you must be sure you tell me." my coffee and got to my feet. "I suppose I should get home. Daddy is going to need dinner."

"Of course."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your well wishes! They really help me get through the bad days. :) Oh, and I should mention I took a few liberties with the story as told in the episode. You'll understand when you see them. Enjoy!**_

* * *

Father made no mention of my minor rebellion when he returned home. As I set out the meager dinner I had managed to scrape together, he needed no encouragement to explain the details of his plan to move to the silver mines. Drawing on every bit of patience I had, I sat and listened to him.

He had plans for the wagon we would take and the supplies we would need to gather. He had a specific route drawn out on a map, part of which included portions of the Truckee Trail. I couldn't help but wonder how long he had been planning this, and felt a little hurt that he hadn't confided in me sooner.

Given my reaction to the news, though, I couldn't really blame him for keeping it to himself.

With resignation, I began to pack up our belongings. Daddy advised me to part with many 'non-essentials', as he called them. My heart grew heavy as I began setting aside many of the books that made up our library. As dearly as I loved the volumes, it would be far too hard to carry them all the way into the wilderness and so I resolved to donate them to the orphanage.

A few 'non-essentials' I flat out refused to dispose of, namely my mother's china set and the mantle clock. These I wrapped up carefully in a trunk and prayed they would survive the journey. Daddy made no objection after his initial frown of disapproval. My plea of needing some family heirloom to remember my mother by was all I needed to say.

The news of Daddy's plan spread quickly. Many of our acquaintances tried to talk him out of it. I held my tongue as I listened to their reasoning and logic: hundreds abandon the mining life and come to San Francisco, so why leave a good life; what kind of father would take his only daughter into mining fields; my father was not as young as he used to be and mining was work for the young.

Through it all, my father maintained that he had considered all sides of the issue and he was not going to change his mind. A large part of me always hoped someone would have something Daddy hadn't thought of and convince him to abandon the idea. As the date of our departure drew closer, though, fewer people tried to argue and instead began wishing us luck.

With so much to do, I bid farewell to the children and my friends at the orphanage several weeks before Daddy and I were to leave. I couldn't hold back the tears at the wails from the littlest ones. Mrs. Dawson pursed her lips as she hugged me, still disapproving of the change. Mr. Peters shook my hand, hesitated for a long moment, and then wished me well.

I went home and cried for an hour.

* * *

Looking over my shoulder, I watched the city fade into the darkness. The early morning start was a mixed blessing. I wouldn't have to see my home in the daylight, but a part of me yearned for that last view of San Francisco. Who knew if I would ever see it again?

We didn't get far at all that first day. Daddy struggled to keep the oxen under control. He'd never been an outdoors kind of person but he was determined. I keep biting my tongue as I tried to help. Cooking over a fire was a novel experience for me that night, and I'm afraid I burned everything. My feet ached from walking, the only activity to break up the monotony of riding on an uncomfortably hard wagon bench.

There was no denying that the stars were beautiful, and I spent more than an hour just looking up at the sky. Daddy hummed some of his favorite old songs like Shenandoah, Lily Dale, and Annie Lawry. For the first time, I felt at peace about the whole venture and I went to sleep with more confidence about what we were doing.

As the days went on, Daddy became better with the wagon. We met many people who had abandoned their interest in mining and were making their way to California in search of a better life for their families. Of course, that did nothing to dampen my father's enthusiasm for the mining life. In fact, it only seemed to bolster his spirits and feed his enthusiasm.

Every evening, after we'd set up camp and I managed some kind of meal, Daddy would sing the old songs while I watched the stars. My anger over the situation drained away the further into the mountains we went. How could I possible be angry with such beautiful scenery surrounding me?

We traveled for over a week, going higher and higher in the mountains. My ability to cook over open flames improved with each night, and when we shared our camp with other travelers who were heading to San Francisco, I was able to pick up some pointers from those with more experience. Father's pride in me pleased me but I tried not to let him know it.

And then we reached the Truckee River. "We're almost there, Rosie girl," Father declared when he finished setting up camp. "It won't be long now."

For some reason, I felt as though we were being watched and I cast uneasy glances at the growing darkness. "Virginia City?" I asked, trying to act as though everything were fine. I tried to focus on the pot of bubbling stew, the one thing I could do _well_ over the fire. "We're that close?"

Eagerly, Daddy nodded. "Those last travelers we passed said the silver is there for the taking. Our future will be set."

I raised my eyebrow as I looked up. Our futures had been secure enough in San Francisco. "If it's so easy to mine, then how do you account for them abandoning it? Some of those men looked desperate."

"Some people have no patience."

He was so irrepressibly optimistic. Shaking my head, I ladled the stew into the tin pan that served as our dinnerware. As soon as he had eaten, he went to the water's edge for a closer look at the river, leaving me to clean up. Once I had everything out away as it should be, I joined him to watch the glow of the setting sun vanish from the water's surface.

As he had done every night, Daddy sang as he sat by the fire. When it grew dark, I crawled into my bed in the wagon to listen in comfort. Staring up at the canvas, I thought about how much my life had changed. I never would have imagined I could be happy cooking over a campfire, constantly smelling of wood smoke, or feel so exhausted. The journey had changed my outlook on life, and I found I felt ready to take up the challenge of surviving a mining town.

Maybe I would even find a handsome miner to call my own.

It was with this pleasant, though impossibly romantic, idea on my mind I closed my eyes. And that's when my life changed again. This time, it was far worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

There was the snap of a twig that comes from someone stepping on it. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" I heard Daddy say, his tone holding a suspicious note I had never heard from him before. All hint of sleepiness fled as I sat up. Trunks and supplies blocked my vision of what was happening.

"We were just passing by, and saw your fire," an unfamiliar voice said. "Mind if we sit a spell?"

"Be my guest," Daddy invited. His voice was louder than necessary, and I knew he was trying to warn me. He had a gun on him, I knew, but I had never seen him shoot it. Would he be able to defend himself if necessary? This had been a constant worry of mine that I had tried to keep to myself. "You fellows are traveling awful late, aren't you?"

How many of them were out there? As silently as possible, I searched for something I could use as a weapon. Not that I would show myself unless there was no other choice. I was in my nightgown, and it would be highly inappropriate to jump out like an amazon woman. With one hand, I searched for my dress, finding only Daddy's spare clothes.

The next sound I heard echoed in the silence of the night: the loud crack of a gunshot. My heart in my throat, I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming as there was an answering thud.

"Why did you have to do that, Mack?" a second voice asked, his words slurring together. "An old man like him couldn't have done us any harm."

Panic and shock was all I felt as my mind tried to wrap itself around the sounds it was hearing. "See if he has any food around," the first voice said, sounding uncaring that he had just shot someone. "I haven't heard a sound from the wagon but I doubt an old man like this would be out here alone."

He was coming towards the wagon. I had to _move._ Not caring how much noise I made, I scrambled for the front of the wagon. I knew all too well what would happen if these two caught me and I intended to do all I could to prevent that fate. An angry shout followed me as I made it over the bench. With Daddy's clothes still in my hand, I jumped to the ground and bolted into the trees.

"Girl! Come back here!"

That shout was accompanied by a gunshot. A squeak left my lips as splinters of wood flew through the air next to my head. Trying to keep my bearings, I angled around until I reached the edge of the Truckee River. Hearing crashing in the trees, I plunged into the cold water, going in until the water reached my waist. I kept the clothes over my head.

"Where did she go?" the second, drunk man asked.

"Into the river," the first said. Their voices carried easily over the water. Shivering, I held still, trying to keep my footing in the moving water. "There's nowhere for you to go! Either you'll drown in the river or you'll be eaten alive."

Flinching, I stared at the bank of the river. My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and I thought I could make out two figures outlined against the trees. One of them threw something on the ground, yelling words I had never heard before. The second made a move to enter the river, and I retreated until the water came up to my chin.

The cold seemed to deter him. When they finally moved away and vanished into the trees, I couldn't feel my toes.

Trembling violently and gasping for breath, I stumbled to the bank. I collapsed onto the rocks and dirt.. What was I going to do? I may have escaped them temporarily, but now there was a whole different set of problems. Where could I go? The only thing I knew for sure was I needed to get out of the wilderness.

Tears filled my eyes as I thought of my father, but I had to push it aside to deal with the present. Grief and mourning would have to happen later.

My hands shook as I pulled off my sopping wet nightgown and dropped it on the ground. The hoot of an owl made me start as I dressed in my father's clothes. Far too big, they were warmer than my wet clothes. I tossed my nightgown into the river, knowing it would be swept away.

Wet though they were, I knew my wool socks were better than nothing and kept them on. Recognizing the need to move quickly, I closed my eyes, trying to remember what I had seen of Papa's map. As many times as I had seen it, I hadn't paid as much attention as I wished I had. I would just have to start moving and hope I was going the right way.

Virginia City was my only hope.

Only a few feet away, I found a hat, presumably the item one of the men had thrown in his anger. I wrinkled my nose at the worn, grimy leather. Still, I twisted my hair up and settled the hat on my head. Hopefully, from afar, I would be mistaken for a boy.

Being a woman alone in the wilderness was practically a death sentence, one I prayed I could avoid. But I had to run.

And run I did.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no way to measure how far I managed to get before the sun began to rise. I lowered myself, shaking from exhaustion, down to the edge of the water for a drink. The noises of the forest at night faded slowly as birds began to wake and sing. The change in atmosphere, though, did nothing to settle my nerves.

Once I had drunk my fill, I leaned my head back to catch the sun's rays and closed my eyes. I knew I could only rest a few minutes before the need to continue moving would become imperative. There was no way for me to know if I had been followed. My father had told me stories of men who could track anyone through any environment and warned that most men who lived in the wilderness could. The men from the night had been drunk, or at least one of them had been, so that would be in my favor.

Once they woke sober, would they have remembered me and begun searching? A lone female would no doubt have seemed ideal for them to have some fun. In the light of day, my situation seemed hopeless. How could a young woman who had never been in the wilderness before possibly hope to make it to safety?

"The only things worse than failure is not even trying," I said aloud. My voice was hoarse and shaky. I opened my eyes and looked up at the blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.

The kind of day my father would have enjoyed and one he would never see again.

A sob rose in my throat as every thought led me back to my loss. I twisted to be face down on the ground, unable to keep my grief at bay. All my pent up emotion from the night came out. When my wails and tears finally ebbed away, I was left even more weak than before. I rolled onto my back and let the sun dry the tears on my face.

Slowly, my muscles began to relax and I decided a few moments of sleep wouldn't harm anything.

* * *

The splash of water woke me some time later. Blinking, I lifted my head from where it had been pillowed on my arm. My vision cleared slowly, revealing a large animal at the edge of the river. A gasp left my lips before I could stop it.

A brown bear was pawing at the water.

What was I supposed to do about this?

Holding my breath, I remained as still as possible. After a few moments, the bear turned and lumbered off into the trees, satisfied with whatever it had done. I breathed out, going limp with relief.

After a moment, I picked myself up. I crawled to the edge of the river and drank my fill. I frowned at my reflection, seeing nothing of the young lady that had left San Francisco not a month earlier. Shaking my head, I leaned away from the water and then forced myself to get to my feet.

I walked until sunset. With each step, my stomach growled louder and louder, reminding me I hadn't eaten in hours. Several of the failed miners Daddy and I had spoken to had made mention 0f being able to scavenge food off the land, but I had no notion what was edible and what would kill me faster than starvation.

Still, knowing I would more than likely die by eating the wrong thing, didn't make it any easier to keep walking. My hands began shaking and walking in a straight line was near impossible.

When it became too dark to see, with clouds shrouding the moon which had guided me the night before, I decided I needed to find some place safe to pass the night. My brief afternoon nap had done little to restore my energy, and I knew there was no possible way I could make it through the night. The idea of coming across a bear in the dark was also a motivator for me to stop.

My first attempt to climb a tree did not go well and I landed hard on my back. Frustrated, I brushed at the tears that welled up in my eyes and pulled myself back up to my feet. I grasped the tree branch and hauled myself up. Triumphant, I managed to climb several yards until I found a comfortable perch that would not be easily seen by intruders.

With exhaustion hanging heavy on me, I spent little time in thinking before I fell asleep. When the dawn finally came, I was stiff and felt no more rested than the night before. I more fell out of the tree than climbed down. The cold river water revived me somewhat, though did nothing to staunch the pain in my stomach.

Determined to be more observant, I set off. As I walked, I tried to take note of what the birds and squirrels were eating. I chewed on pine needles. Anything to stave off the pain in my stomach.

* * *

The scent of a campfire drew me further out of the trees. It was strange for there to be a fire burning at this time of day as the sun still had several hours left in the sky. Cautiously, I crept forward, hoping I would find some kind of scraps of food.

For several days, I had begun to think I was drawing near to some kind of civilization, finding footprints in the dirt and hearing the lowing of cattle. How I longed for some farm with a kindly housewife to tut over me and welcome me into her home. That I could be on the property of a family with no woman never occurred to me.

Catching sight of two horses, I used the brush to hide my approach.

"Anyhow, I'm just passing through!" An older, belligerent voice carried to me and I stopped dead in my tracks. Instinct made me fall a few steps back. My last encounter with men had left me with little inclination to meet another in the wilderness, especially not one whose voice slurred from drink.

"Yeah, well, next time you just go around, y'hear?" A second voice, more kindly, but firm, responded to the first. This statement was followed by the two horses racing off.

The older man who was by the campfire began to mutter too low for me to understand and he put out the flames by dumping dirt on them. He then walked to his donkey, a plate in one hand and a iron skillet in the other. My mouth watered as I watched him tip the plate and whatever had been his meal slid to the ground.

He stored his belongings into saddlebags and looked up. Swiftly, I ducked below a far too small bush and then retreated, cursing my carelessness. Whether he saw me or not, I couldn't tell because when I looked again he had turned and had begun leading his donkey away.

My mind on the possible food, I forced myself to wait some time before I darted forward. My feet skidded on the dirt and found the piece of fried meat the old miner had abandoned. It was cold, tough, and impossible to determine what exactly it was. Still, I tore through it in no time and liked my fingers clean.

The little bit of food eased my hunger. Adjusting my hat, I glanced around. The two hoof prints led into the distance and I wondered if they led towards a trail that would take me to a town. Deciding that I had nothing to lose, I began walking in that direction.

My wilderness wanderings had to come to an end sometime.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/: A longer chapter for you to enjoy. :) Time for the Cartwrights to meet Rosemary!**_

* * *

No more than a day later, the trees that had sheltered me were filled with the sound of riders. I hide in the branches as unsavory men rode beneath me, many of them carrying traps and rifles. Something had brought them all out, and though I was mildly curious about what that reason was, my fear drove me further into hiding.

With my havan filled with men, I made the decision to follow the road I'd found. Leaving the forest was the hardest decision I made. I hunched low over the ground as I walked. So many of the men who had invaded the trees had come from this direction, I was certain Virginia City had to be there. Or, at least, some town where I could find some sort of lawman.

Pounding hoofbeats caught my attention, and I looked up to see a brown horse passing by, not quite headed directly for me. Alarmed, I changed direction and clambered over the mound of dirt. My hope that I would be ignored was shattered when I glanced back to see the rider rushing towards me.

Large stones nearly made me stumble as I tried to move quickly. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, impelling me forward. I momentarily forgot about how hungry and tired I was.

"You in there! That's a box canyon! There's no way out!"

The warning that followed me only made my legs move quicker. If I could climb fast enough, I would be out of this man's reach. I was stronger than I had been when I first found myself alone in the wilderness. I found handholds quickly as I pulled myself further up the side of the canyon.

I heard the horse and then another shout, "Get down from there!"

The solid rocks that my feet had found gave way beneath me and I began to fall. I remember hitting the bottom of the canyon, feeling the breath get forced out of my lungs, and then blackness danced in front of my eyes. My hearing, though, hadn't been harmed and the sound of someone dismounting nearby reached me. Then, footsteps crunched on the ground and then I felt someone's fingers press against my neck.

"Not dead then," I heard him say with a sigh. Hands grasped my left arm and the back of my jacket, and I was hauled up. My legs felt like jelly, and my captor dragged to his horse. My vision had begun to clear up and I was flopped over the front of the saddle. The man mounted behind me and the nudged the horse into motion.

Only once did I make the mistake of opening my eyes. Watching the ground pass by underneath me made my headache even worse and I squeezed my eyes shut again. Time flew by quickly with my trying not to lose the few contents of my stomach and my captor not saying a word.

* * *

When the horse began to slow, I heard a young man's voice. "Hey, Pa! Hey, Pa, here comes Adam." There was a pause. "He's got a body stretched across his saddle. Maybe it's that Josh fella."

Those names meant nothing to me, and I could only feel relief that I was going to be on solid ground again. "Well, who have you got there?" an older man asked.

"Found this boy roaming the hills," my captor answered, and I felt him dismount. He pulled me from the saddle.

"Is he alright?" The young man asked, concern in his voice.

"Oh, he's alright. I'll take him into the bunkhouse and let Hop-Sing wash him up."

A second pair of hands helped steady me as I was pushed forward. My balance restored, I managed to hold my own once I was on my feet for a few moments. I was deposited on a bed in a sparsely decorated wooden room. I kept my head down, staring at the black boots in front of me.

"Now stay here," the man ordered. "Our cook will bring you hot water and the some food."

A hot bath. Food. The two things I wanted most. Feeling choked up, I said nothing. Heaving a sigh, the man turned and walked out. The door closed behind him. I lifted my head, and tried to take stock of where I was.

Many bunks lined the walls. I eyed the door for a moment, resisting the urge to flee. Where would I go? Surely the men here would catch me faster than I could run. And I was so hungry.

A second door opened and I recoiled into the corner. Muttering words I couldn't understood but in a language I had heard many times in San Francisco, a small Chinese man dragged a tin tub in. He then hurried in and out, carrying steaming buckets of water. Once he was satisfied with the water level, he turned to me.

"You boy! Get in tub!" He ordered. "No time for foolishment. Have supper to put on table. You wash up clean."

What I would have done if he'd remained in the room, I don't know. As it was, he hurried out, closing the door, no doubt to food on the table. I waited a moment to be sure he would not come hurrying back, and slowly approached the tub. Steam rose from the water, enticing me to enter and be clean for the first time in...I didn't know how long.

I was quick to pull my filthy clothes from my body, and I am rather ashamed to admit I dropped them in a heap on the floor. Without a thought as to what I would put on once I was clean, I stepped into the hot warm and sank down until my head was above the water. Closing my eyes, I let my weary muscles relax.

After a few moments, the pull to completely immerse myself was too strong to resist. Taking a deep breath, I slipped beneath the surface of the water and stayed under for as long as I could, feeling myself relax more and more. It occurred to me that I ought to make a start on removing the dirt from my skin and hair. Reluctantly, I straightened up and leaned to the side where I had seen a bar of soap.

Snatching it up, I set to lathering it across my skin. I'd removed most of the filth and had set to working the soap through my tangled hair when the door opened. The cook's loud exclamation made me duck below the brim of the tub with a gasp, my hair hanging in a mass in front of my face. A steady stream of Chinese came from the man as I heard him rush out the door.

An almost hysterical laugh bubbled up out of nowhere. I forced it down and swiftly rinsed out my hair. I began to climb out of the tub, the water now cooling, and grabbed the thick towel that had been laid out. It was while I was drying myself that I realized the cook had taken my clothes. Astonished, I sat on the edge of the closest bunk. What was I supposed to do now?

Before I could figure it out there was a knock on the door. "You in there," the baritone voice of my captor called in. A second later, the door opened enough for an arm to come through and a blanket of some kind was tossed in. "Put this on and come out."

The door closed again. Forcing myself onto my feet, I hurried to pick the blanket up. It was nothing to look at but seemed large enough to cover myself if I arranged it just right. I put my hand up to my hair and somehow couldn't bring myself to walk out without at least trying to tame it.

My fingers made a poor substitute for a comb and brush, but I managed to confine it into a passable braid. I set myself to 'dressing' myself in the blanket. Then, I found myself in front of the door and couldn't quite reach for the doorknob.

Who were these men? What kind of family were they?

There was a light tap on the door. "Missy? You ready come out now?" It was the cook.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped out. The cook grinned in what I assumed was supposed to be an encouraging way. He guided me from the bunkhouse to the main house. Through the door, I could hear multiple male voices speaking and laughing. One, loudest of all, asked, "What are we going to do with her?"

Whatever the answer was, I didn't hear, either because it was spoken more quietly or because the Chinese cook opened the door. "This way, Missy," he said, gesturing for me to enter.

Nervously, I stepped through the doorway and forced myself to continue into the house. Four men, of varying ages and looks, exchanged glances and rose from where they had been sitting. I couldn't bring myself to meet any of their gazes, and my heart pounded in my chest. My fingers tightened on the blanket that was protecting my modesty.

The oldest man, one I had heard before, came forward. "Hello," he said in a kind way. I couldn't keep from flinching as he drew near, though I didn't think he would hurt me. He gestured to the chairs where he had been sitting. "Won't you sit down?"

My shoulders hunched up as I walked. Getting closer, being trapped in the middle of those men, was the last thing I wanted. After being so long on my own, suddenly being the center of attention was frightening. The largest of them sat down so that he wasn't towering over me, an action I felt grateful for.

"What's your name child?" the silver haired man asked gently.

Could I trust my voice? Would it even work after being unused so long? My lips parted to speak but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The dark haired one who had brought me there knelt by the arm of the chair. "Why did you run away from me?" he asked. Still, I couldn't find my voice.

"Ain't you got no folks? No relatives?" The large, kindly one asked, concern written on his face.

That question struck pain through my heart, but at least I could answer without my voice. I shook my head and kept my gaze lowered. I would not cry in front of theses strangers. I wouldn't let myself.

"Perhaps...perhaps you'd rather not talk until morning," the older man suggested.

Startled by the suggestion, I twisted to look at him. Would it be any easier to tell if I put it off? "N-no," I said, forcing the word out. I made sure to look at them all in turn as I continued, "I think you're all...friends."

They hadn't tried to harm me, even once they knew I was female. I could trust these men, I felt sure of it. Did I have any other choice? I took a deep breath, steeling myself to tell my story.

"My name is Rosemary Lawson. My father and I left San Francisco to come to Virginia City by wagon. My father _was_ a schoolteacher, but he wanted to look for silver. We didn't have any trouble until we got into the mountains. And one night, we were camped near the Truckee River. It was very beautiful there. We were were very happy."

The four men kept quiet, listening and watching me tell my tale. Somehow, their understanding expressions made it easier to go on, to tell the hardest part.

"We sat by the fire and Daddy sang some old songs to me. Then, I went to bed in the wagon. Later, I was awakened by pistol shots and there...there were strange men in camp." My grief threatened to choke me. "They-they'd killed my father."

Ducking my head down, I tried not to let my sobs overwhelm me. My audience shifted around me. "Well, I think you've talked enough for tonight, Rosemary," the silver haired man said, his tone somber. "Hop-Sing, why don't you see that she gets some hot food and prepare that room at the end of the bunkhouse."

The dark haired man who had brought me there rose and helped me to my feet. The Chinese man, Hop-Sing, his smile sympathetic led me to the door. "Rest well," the patriarch said as I left the house.

"Come this way, Missy," Hop-Sing said once the door was shut behind me.

Before I could go a step further, there was something I had to know. "Hop-Sing? Who are those men? Where am I?"

"Those are the Cartlights," the cook said with obvious bride. "Mr. Ben, Mr. Adam, Mr. Hoss, and Lil' Joe. Them good people. This the Ponderosa. You safe here."

Safe. At long last.


	5. Chapter 5

The food Hop-Sing brought me was light and just the fare I needed. He also managed to find a smallish nightgown for me to put on. It was most definitely intended for a man, but after wearing men's clothing for days, I was not about to be finicky. I pulled it over my head and climbed into the first bed I'd been in since leaving San Francisco.

My stomach full, I dropped right off to sleep and didn't even dream. The sun was shining on me when the sound of riders finally roused me from my slumber. I dragged myself out from under the blanket and walked to the window. From my vantage point, I could see a group of men were riding away from the house, none of them the four Cartwrights I had met the previous night.

Shaking my head, I turned away and spotted clothing resting on the foot of my bed. I discovered they were a small men's shirt and trousers. I carried them to the wash basin. Lukewarm water waited for me there, evidence the cook had been in earlier. I washed my face and dressed in the outfit.

My stomach growled, a familiar sound to my ears, and I decided to see about finding some breakfast. When I reached it, I hesitated to open the door. What would I find outside? I would admit that I was a little uneasy about being seen in men's clothing. I wasn't wandering around a forest anymore.

Gathering my courage, I laid my hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened easily and I stepped through. My steps became more and more uncertain as I made my way towards the front door.

"Good morning, Rosemary," the kindest of voices said from behind me. Gasping, I whirled around, my heart leaping to my throat. Immediately, the large man took off his hat. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"N-no, it's alright," I managed to respond. If I had been paying attention, I would have heard him coming. I offered a slight smile, which made him grin broadly. "I must have over-slept..."

"Now, don't you think like that," he said, taking a slow step forward. I firmly told myself not to flinch; that he wouldn't hurt me. "You needed the rest. You done been through quite a bit, more than a purty thing like you should have to go through. No one would have said a thing if you'd have slept all day."

"I'm not used to sleeping so long, or so comfortably."

My confession, which had left my lips before I could reconsidered, made the delight on his face dim. "I reckon that's true," he said. After a moment, he brightened again. "And I figure you must be hungry now too. I'll take you to Hop-Sing and he'll get you whatever you want."

"Oh, no! I don't want to be any trouble-."

"No trouble at all! In fact, Hop-Sing will be happy to have someone new appreciate his cooking." The man held his arm out. I stared at him, hesitating. His expression softened. "I ain't gonna hurt you."

I knew that and I forced myself to nod. These people were helping me. I had no reason not to trust them. I reached out and linked my arm with his. His chest puffed up as though he were proud, and he laid his other hand on mine. "You ain't got nothing to fear from us, Miss Rosemary."

Even if I tried, I couldn't keep the smile from my face as I looked up at him. His face was so kind, and his blue eyes held the most gentle expression I had ever seen. "Thank you, sir."

"Sir? You can just call me Hoss, Miss Rosemary."

"Hoss?" I repeated. Hop-Sing had mentioned it before, but I had assumed it was merely the Chinese man mangling a more normal name. "I've never heard of that before."

Hoss guided me to the front door. "Oh, I was born with proper name like any other person, but I got to be so big, my family just took to calling me 'Hoss'. Now that's all anyone calls me." he explained, as he opened the door. "Sometimes I don't even remember the name my mother gave me."

Such an outrageous statement drew a laugh from me. Looking pleased with himself, Hoss steered me into the kitchen where Hop-Sing was already hard at work with preparing the meals for later in the day. The Chinese man broke into a wide grin and urged me to have a seat while he cooked me some breakfast.

"It wouldn't be polite for us to just watch her eat, Hop-Sing, so I think you ought to make a little extra for me to join her," Hoss said in a pointed way, earning a glare from the cook.

"Mister Hoss have work. Need stay out of Hop-Sing kitchen!" the little man said sharply.

From my seat at the table, I could only glance between them, uncertain who would win out. When Hop-Sing spun around and began gathering supplies, all the while grumbling under his breath, Hoss faced me with a smile. "Nothing makes Hop-Sing feel appreciated than for someone to ask for more," he informed me.

"Oh, here's where you got yourself," the youngest of the Cartwrights said as he entered. He snatched up a slice of bread from the counter. "I should have known you'd come looking for a snack. It's been a whole three hours since you last ate. You must have been about to waste away."

Startled, I couldn't keep from flinching at the new voice. Hoss glared at his brother. "Lil' Joe, you know better than to go barging into rooms like that," he said chidingly. "We have a guest, you know."

Joe Cartwright's eyes moved to me, and he looked startled. "Oh, sorry," he apologized. His gaze flicked over me, and a mischievous grin appeared on his face. "I must say, I wish that look were popular among other ladies."

My cheeks flushing, I looked down at my masculine attire. "Now, Joe, why'd you have to say something like that?" Hoss demanded. "Don't you listen to a word he says, Miss Rosemary. Our brother Adam says his mouth speaks before his brain understands what's going on, most of the time."

The young man's face twisted with offense. "Hoss, you shouldn't spread such things around," he said. "Miss Lawson might believe you. Besides, I meant it as a compliment. She looks real pretty dressed like that."

The compliment only made me wish for a proper dress and I dropped my gaze to my hands. "No time for foolishment!" Hop-Sing declared, making me jump. "Why take up room in Hop-Sing's kitchen? Out!"

"Aw, Hop-Sing," both Cartwrights said at the same time.

Picking up the closest pan, Hop-Sig brandished it like a weapon. Hoss' hands came up and he backed up a few steps. "We're going, Hop-Sing, we're going," Joe said, swiftly hiding behind his larger brother.

Seeing them both retreated amused me enough that I regained my equilibrium. "Here, Missy," Hop-Sing said, placing a heaping plate of food in front of me. "Eat! Eat!"

Amazed at the quantity, I stared at it for a moment. "You don't have to eat it all if you don't feel up to it," the deep baritone I knew best of all made me look up. The dark haired man who could only be Adam, smiled as he entered. He went to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. Since Hop-Sing made no objection, I assumed this was acceptable.

"Are you feeling better today?" He asked as he settled into a seat across from me. He was careful to keep some distance between me and him, no doubt out of respect for my jumpiness.

"A little," I admitted. I picked up my fork and started on the eggs. Once I begun, I was hard pressed to control myself. A hand reached across the table and stilled me.

"I think it would be best if you took it a little slower," Adam said seriously, though still kind. "You don't want your stomach to object to too much food all at once."

He was right, and I put my fork down. I reached my hand for the cup of coffee Hop-Sing had poured for me. Something other than water was a relief and I inhaled the rich scent before I sipped it.

"I don't want to upset you, Miss Lawson, but there is something I would like to know," Adam said, getting my attention once again. "Would you be able to describe or show me on a map where you and your father were last camped? If so, we can send someone out to find some of your things, if they are still to be found, and make sure..."

His voice trailed away. "My father is laid to rest," I finished for him, my voice soft. I nodded, blinking away the tears that came to my eyes. "Thank you. I think so."

Adam nodded and stood up. "When you're ready."

* * *

Finishing the plate of food was impossible, and I had been forced to leave it, an act which was hard to do. Hop-Sing had taken it in stride, calling me 'Missy', and telling me I was welcome in his kitchen whenever I wished it.

I wandered out into the main part of the house, thinking to glean some kind of information about this family I had stumbled upon. The furnishings were decidedly masculine and hinted at there being an absence of a woman living there in some time. I approached the massive fireplace, marveling at it's size.

There was silence in the house, my barefeet making no sound as I moved to the desk. My attention went to the large map that hung on the wall. The colors were bright and had the words ' _The Ponderosa'_ written boldly across it. I tilted my head to see how it would sit if the map had been positioned with north at the top.

"I'm afraid my son had a unique approach to drawing maps."

Mr. Cartwright, the oldest man of the family, came up beside me. I was proud that I kept from flinching. "It's beautiful," I said sincerely, watching him from the corner of my eye. "And large."

He smiled. "A thousand square acres," he said with well earned pride. He turned to face me. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." I sent a rueful glance at my clothing, but felt too embarrassed to mention what I was wearing.

"I am glad to hear it," he said, either not seeing my glance or too much of a gentleman to say anything on the subject. Silence fell between us for a moment. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

A blush heated up my cheeks. After what they had done for me already -rescuing me from the wilderness, feeding me, and allowing me to stay under their roof-, how could I ask for more? "Thank you."

"By any chance, were you seen while you were out in the forest?"

"I suppose I must have been," I admitted reluctantly. "I was careful not to be seen up close, or let anyone near, but I know of at least one man, an older miner, who definitely saw me. Not very long ago."

To my surprise, my admission made Ben Cartwright chuckled. "That explains it."

"Explains what?" I couldn't help but ask.

"A wild tale was printed in the newspaper about a wildman on the Ponderosa," he responded. "The article brought several people to investigate the rumor. Adam estimated it to be around five hundred, but I think he may have been exaggerating. In any event, some of our stock were frightened into a water hole and it took nearly all day to pull them all out."

The idea of cows stuck in water and mud made me want to giggle, but I suspected it wasn't a laughing matter. "A wildman?" I said, frowning as I thought back. "Someone saw me and thought I was a wildman?"

"That's it exactly."

I glanced again at my clothes and gave a slight shrug. "I suppose I can understand why."

Reaching over, Mr. Cartwright patted my arm in a fatherly way. "We'll have you put right soon enough," he said, his tone reassuring. He hesitated for a moment, dropping his hand. "Did Adam speak to you already?"

It hadn't been easy, finding the general location where Daddy and I had last camped. Seeing just how far I had walked was staggering but wasn't as far as I had expected. "Yes, he did."

"Good, good," Mr. Cartwright said. "If you'll excuse me, Rosemary, I must make sure my sons are keeping to their work."

With a smile, I nodded and watched him hurry out.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: For some reason, there were several reviews I couldn't respond to on the last chapter. I do appreciate hearing from each one of you!**_

* * *

The next morning, when I woke up, there were several packages on the foot of my bed. Blinking sleepily, I pushed myself forward to pick up the first one. It was a moderate weight and flexed in the paper package. All trace of sleep fled as I guessed what was inside. Hastily, I tore through the paper.

A pink dress fell into my lap. Awed, I ran my fingers over the clean fabric. When I lifted my gaze, I spotted even more paper forms on the floor near the door, far more than I could count.

With a laugh, I pulled the ones on my bed closer to me and opened them, revealing all manner of clothes, under clothes, and everything a young lady could wish for. I scrambled out of bed and took my time in dressing. There was a silver handled brush for me to tame my hair.

Finally, I presented myself in front of the small mirror over the wash basin. For the first time in a long time, I looked like a proper young lady. Twisting and turning, I tried to take in every angle. The skirt swished around my legs, making me smile.

Unable to remain unseen a moment longer, I hurried to the door leading into the house. To my disappointment, all was silent as I went in search of someone to see me. Finally, I went into the kitchen and found Hop-Sing, hard at work for the day's meals. His face broke into a broad grin as his eyes landed on me.

"Missy look much better!" He declared.

"I feel much better," I said, hurrying forward. I grabbed onto his hands, ignoring the flour that covered them. "Thank you, Hop-Sing."

The cook dropped his eyes in embarrassment. "Missy vely welcome," he said. He pulled his hands from my grasp and shooed me out. "I bring breakfast to table. Go! Sit."

As before, it was impossible for me to eat everything set before me. When he cleared away my plate, Hop-Sing beamed when he saw how much I had eaten. And then, I was left to amuse myself.

A search of the bookshelf yielded a volume of Shakespeare's poetry. I carried it off to my room to read. In between poems, I opened and sorted through the other packages. The amount of clothes Hop-Sing had provided was staggering: five dresses in total, with underclothes, stockings, and two pairs of boots.

All the while, I kept my ears open for sounds of the Cartwright men returning. Finally, mid-afternoon, I heard horses ride up and then, moments later, the front door, opening and closing.

Closing the book, I got to my feet and smoothed any wrinkles I saw in my skirt. A few steps took me to the mirror and I checked my hair. My eyes sparkled with excitement, and my cheeks were rosy. With a nod, I spun on my heel and hurried to the door. I pulled it open and crossed to the front door.

I could hear all four voices of the family as I put my hand on the doorknob. Something seemed to have agitated them. Carefully, I opened the door and slipped inside. The Cartwrights were gathered around a map, Adam sitting back from pointing out a detail for his father, who looked graver than I had ever seen a person be. Whatever had happened must have been serious.

"I wouldn't put it past the ol' scallywag," Hoss said forcefully.

Taking a chance that a distraction wouldn't be amiss, I spoke up. "Is anything wrong?"

All four turned their heads and amazement showed on all faces. "Hey, Adam! Take a look at what happened to that little boy you found," Joe said with a laugh.

Giggling, I held the sides of my dress and walked to where they were gathered. "Well!" Mr. Cartwright said as I spun to display how well I looked. After so long in men's clothing, I was certain my new appearance was much improved.

"You sure look pretty," Joe said, appreciation in his voice. I had already pegged him as one who had an eye for the ladies, though he couldn't have been much older than I.

"Thank you!" I responded, smiling happily.

"You know," Adam said with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder at Joe. "I don't understand how I could make such a big mistake."

Everyone laughed along with him. "You know, that Hop-Sing is a pretty good outfitter," Mr. Cartwright said.

I couldn't agree more. "Oh, he bought a lot more than I need. I don't know how to thank all of you."

Mr. Cartwright patted my arm as the front door swung open. Hop-Sing hurried in, looking amused. "Somebody come here. Ride up on mule!" he announced, pointing back the way he'd come.

Immediately, Adam hurried for the front door with Joe right on his heels. "That's all we need. Another scientific expedition!" Mr. Cartwright said, getting to his feet. He reached out to take my arm. "Rosemary, let's find out who this is."

He guided me out the front door, and Hoss trailed along behind us with a rifle in his hand. Once we were all out in the open, I spotted a man in a suit, riding a mule, just as Hop-Sing had said. "It's that newspaper reporter," Adam said, glancing back at his father.

"Afternoon," the man greeted as he brought his mule to a stop in front of us. He dismounted and faced Adam. Clearly they had met before. "We, uh, we printed a retraction about the wildman."

"So we noticed," Adam responded. He kept his face still, but his eyes and voice held amusement. "Would you care to meet him?"

"Wouldn't that be a little hard to do?" the man asked with a slight laugh. "After all, it was just sort of something I dreamed up."

So this was the man who wrote the story about the wildman. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. "Well, Mr. Clemens," Mr. Cartwright said from where he stood beside me. "I think you should be given the opportunity to meet the wildman." He moved aside a bit and gestured to me. "Here she is!"

Mr. Clemens face became dumbfounded. "You mean, she's—?"

"That's right, Mr. Clemens. There's your wildman," Hoss said, his voice booming over me. "Twenty foot tall, with a manzanita bush in each hand and a wagon tongue in her mouth."

His words made everyone around me laugh as I blushed in embarrassment. "Well, I don't know what they're talking about, miss, but you are the prettiest wildman I ever did see," Mr. Clemens said, taking his hat off.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

"Now, Mr. Clemens, to what do we owe this visit?" Mr. Cartwright said, suddenly serious.

Mr. Clemens also straightened, losing all mirth in his demeanor. "Well, for one thing, I thought you ought to know there are warrants out for your arrest," he announced.

The mood changed in an instant and I look from one to the other in confusion. "Warrants for our arrest?" Mr. Cartwright repeated, glancing at his sons. "Well, I think we ought to talk about this inside." He turned to me. "Rosemary, tell Hop-Sing we'll have a guest for dinner."

Nodding, I hurried to do as he asked. "Here, I'll take your mule," I heard Joe say as I rushed for the front door. Something terrible must have happened.

* * *

The meal was lively and Mr. Cartwright kept the conversation away from whatever troubles had found the family. Between Mr. Clemens and Joe, I never failed to have someone seeking my attention. The newspaperman was a charming, well-educated man, and could go from flattering me to debating with Adam easily.

At the end of the meal, I helped Hop-Sing clear the table, despite the cook's protest. I wanted to do something useful, though. The Cartwrights joined Mr. Clemens in the great room with coffee and brandy.

"Mr. Clemens, I homesteaded the Ponderosa, fought Indians, and drove off outlaws. I'm not going to let Lash or anybody else grab my land," I heard Mr. Cartwright say as I stacked dishes in the kitchen. Curious, I drew closer to the door, unashamed to eavesdrop.

"Well, if the railroad got a legal right of way, and checkerboarded the Ponderosa with land holdings, what would you do then?" Mr. Clemens asked in response.

"Fight. We've got guns, ammunition, and friends."

The idea of my new friends, or anyone, being involved in a gunfight sent a streak of fear into my heart. Was this territory only a place where people died? I couldn't keep from shuddering as I continued listening.

Mr. Clemens gave a disbelieving laugh. "You can't fight the law with guns."

"I don't think you have the proper respect for guns, Mr. Clemens," Joe said in his cocky way that I had become so familiar with. "But you'd be surprised how many people have."

"Oh, I've got a lot of respect for guns," Mr. Clemens objected. There was a pause, and then he said, "Good balance. The thing is that sometimes you get right smackdab in a fight that you can't settle with guns."

"Or with fists," Adam added vaguely.

The newspaperman chuckled. "That's right. Now, if our hunch is right, everything depends on defeating Billington in the election so that he won't sell out to the railroad."

"Looks to me like we need to get started then before the election," Hoss spoke up.

"You can't defeat a politician with guns, but you might be able to with...laughter."

Joe gave a slight laugh. :You mean laugh him out of town?"

"Something like that. Sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword."

There was a brief pause as the Cartwrights thought that over. I could remember my father saying words of that sort, but they hadn't helped him when he was gunned down. "Well, I don't know, Mr. Clemens," Hoss said slowly. "I think I'd have to put my money on a sword."

"If I was up against a crowd, I think I'd count on my guns," Adam remarked.

"Now, wait a minute, boys," Mr. Cartwright said. "Sam, if you want to fight this thing out with your pen, well that's up to you. But we'll be around with our guns to help you if you need us."

Leaning against the wall, I breathed out. From what I understood of the matter, taking on a judge was not going to be an easy matter. "Fair enough," Mr. Clemens said, getting my attention, sounding not in the least bit perturbed about the task in front of him. He was braver than I had given him credit for.

"You know, I sure would like to know how you're going to go about it," Joe said.

"Just keep reading the _Territorial Enterprise_."

Soon after that, Mr. Clemens took his leave and I joined the family to watch him ride off. "You think he has a chance, Pa?" Hoss asked.

"I hope so. For his sake," Mr. Cartwright said. He turned to me. "Well, Rosemary, how would you like to spend the evening with some music. Adam will bring down his guitar and play for us."

"He's the only musical one of us, so you'll have to put up with our caterwauling," Joe added with a laugh.

"I'd like that," I said, ignoring Joe's teasing. Hoss made a mock swipe at his brother's head. "I love music."


	7. Chapter 7

Adam had a talent with the guitar, having clearly practised often. Many of the songs he played, the rest of the family sang along with vigor. I hadn't counted on the memories that singing and hearing certain songs would bring, though. When Adam began playing 'Annie Laurie', tears welled up in my eyes.

All of the sudden, I couldn't bear to hear another note. I pushed myself from the chair and ran for the front door. Adam's playing came to an abrupt halt as I wrenched the door open and bolted out into the dark. I grabbed onto the first thing I could -a porch post- and clung to it as I sobbed.

A moment later, a pair of hands came down on my shoulders and turned me away from the post. "You just cry until you have no tears left," Mr. Cartwright said, his deep voice soothing. He pulled me into an embrace, my face pressing up against his chest. "It will do you no good to try holding it in."

His kindness was too much and I cried until I felt weak. Ben Cartwright held me through the whole, murmuring encouragement, and rubbing my arms. "I'm sorry," I said, lifting my tear stained face. "I thought-I thought I had mourned my father."

He let me step away. "That's the funny thing about grief, Rosemary," he said sadly. "It can creep up on you unexpectedly. I've been married three times and I've had the misfortune of putting them all in the ground before their time. I miss each of them every day, and I have no doubt I will continue to miss them for the rest of my life."

Three wives? How could one man keep going in spite of such tragedy? He offered a sad sort of smile when I asked him. "I have my sons," he said simply. "They gave me reason enough to keep living. You're a survivor, Rosemary. You kept yourself going when others would have given up, and you'll keep living."

"If he hadn't been so set on mining silver, this wouldn't have happened," I said softly. "We would be safe in San Francisco now. He would be grading papers and I would be cleaning up from our meal. I am so angry at my father and I shouldn't be. But I can't help myself and then I feel so guilty."

The last two sentences burst from me before I could stop them. Mr. Cartwright nodded though. "You wonder why you lived and he didn't," he said, his tone understanding. "That too will pass. I cannot know what prompted your father to decide on searching for silver, but he was following his dream. Never judge a man harshly for doing that."

Sniffing, I rubbed at my face. "You go and get some rest," Mr. Cartwright said. "The boys will understand."

I was exhausted, my grief having sapped my strength. "Goodnight, Mr. Cartwright."

"Now, none of that. You can call me Ben."

Turning to go to my room, I paused a moment and looked over my shoulder. "Mr...I mean, Ben? What will happen to me now? My father was my only family."

"Don't you worry about that. You will stay here until we can figure something out."

"And if there is a fight for your land?"

My question seemed to surprise him and he was silent for a moment. "Hopefully, it won't come to that," he finally said. "But if it does...we'll make sure you're safe."

Oddly enough, it wasn't the answer I wanted. Still, I gave a nod and hurried to my room at the end of the bunkhouse. This family of men had taken me in when they knew nothing about me. They had clothed me, fed me, treated me with respect, and sheltered me.

Despite what Ben had told me, I didn't think I could possibly bear to lose this family so soon after losing my first.

* * *

The next morning, I was awake in time to join the family for breakfast. Joe was barely coherent until he drank a couple cups of coffee, a fact which Ben chided him about. They discussed what they were going to accomplish that day, though Hoss' task went unmentioned and he didn't come to breakfast. Adam and Ben were going to oversee some horse breaking, while Joe declared he had work close to the house that needed seeing to.

This was, I suspected, a ruse, and his older brother's expressions were just as disbelieving as I felt. When the other three rode off, he turned to me with a grin. "Want to go fishing?" he asked, his hazel green eyes alight with mischief.

"Fishing?"

"Don't tell me you've never been fishing before!" he exclaimed. "That settles it. You and I are going to go fishing."

Quicker than I could follow, he had talked Hop-Sing into packing a picnic lunch, he had collected everything that was apparently needed for fishing, and had two horses saddled. He faced me, no doubt to help me mount the pretty brown mare.

"I don't know how to ride," I blurted out.

A frown creased his forehead for only a moment. "There's nothing to it," he said cheerfully. "Just put your foot in the stirrup and I'll boost you the rest of the way up. Then, you'll sit in the saddle and I'll lead Belle. Easy as pie."

Skeptical, I nonetheless grabbed the pommel and out my foot in the stirrup exactly as he had directed. A moment later, his hands were at my waist pushing me up. Then, I was sitting in the saddle. With a squeak, I tightened my grip on the pommel.

"You're fine," Joe said, making sure my feet were secure in the stirrups before he mounted himself. He guided his horse closer and grabbed Belle's reins. "See? Now we're just going to walk. You just relax, Rosemary. You're in the best hands."

Relaxing was beyond me, though, and I spent the entire journey clinging tightly to the pommel. I was never more thankful than when we reached a small stream and Joe helped me to the ground. "There," he said with infuriating cheerfulness. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I think I'm going to need practice."

"Not a problem," he said, waving his hand. "I'll teach you while you're here. It's not like I have anywhere better to be."

He led the way to the stream, explaining every step of what we were going to do. Joe baited the hook of my pole and showed how to cast it into the water. Then, he settled onto the ground and lounged against the log I was sitting on.

"Aren't you going to fish?" I asked.

"I think you've got it well in hand," he said, pushing the brim of his hat to cover his eyes. "If you think you have a bite, just let me know."

Clinging to the pole with both hands, I sat there as tense as could be. Silence stretched on, making the minutes feel like hours. Finally, Jo heaved a sigh and sat up. "Look, you've got to relax, Rosemary," he said. "That's the whole purpose of fishing: to relax and enjoy the day."

"This is not my idea of relaxing," I admitted, forcing my fingers to relax their grip. "I would much prefer a book."

Tilting his head, Joe bestowed me with an astonished look. "You're as bad as Adam," he said. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised given that your father was a schoolteacher."

I held the pole out to him but he shook his head. "You're doing fine."

With a sigh, I adjusted my seat so that I too was on the ground, resting my back against the log. I found myself relaxing more as the sun rose higher. "Why did you bring me out here?" I asked.

"It's no fun being cooped up in one place," Joe responded. "Besides, with everything going on, taking some time to relax is a good thing."

"What exactly is 'going on?'"

Joe was only too delighted to explain the current trouble the Cartwright family was involved in. A judge in Virginia City was dealing under the table with a railroad company that wanted Cartwright land. Men had been sent out to survey, ignoring the No Trespassing signs that lined the border of the Ponderosa. And now there were warrants out for the arrest of the Cartwrights because they defended their property from intruders.

"We could have killed them, but we took him back alive," Joe concluded. "Our only hope to avoid an all out war is if we can make sure Billington isn't re-elected as judge."

"And that's what Mr. Clemens plans on helping you with? With his newspaper article?" I asked, remembering what I had overheard the night before.

Scoffing, Joe nodded. "He thinks the pen is mightier than the sword."

Any defense I might have made for the written word was cut off by a tug on my pole. With a yelp, I tightened my grip. "Joe!"

Scrambling up, Joe reached around me to grab the pole. "Hey, you actually caught something," he said. He jerked suddenly on the pole and pulled a fish up from the water. Amazed, I watched as he made quick work of detaching the fish from the hook. He strung it on a line and put him back in the water. "Good job. Ready to go again?"

Without even waiting for me to say yes or no, he began putting the bait on the hook. "Are you going to make me do all the work?"

"Not work. This is fun, remember."

But he picked up the second pole, baited it, and cast the line into the water. He started whistling 'Sweet Betsy From Pike' but stopped when I glanced at him. "Sorry," he said, his tone sincerely apologetic. "I don't want to upset you."

"It won't." He didn't keep whistling though. After a moment, I kept talking. "My father loved all of those songs, especially the older ones. He'd say 'Rosie girl, we need to keep singing the songs. Otherwise they'll be forgotten.'"

"It sounds like your father was a good man."

The solemn tone sounded odd coming from him. "He was, thank you."

After a moment, Joe grinned, breaking the solemnity. "I bet you I will catch a bigger fish."

How could I turn down a challenge like that?


	8. Chapter 8

Riding back to the house was a little easier. Joe kept distracting me by teasing me about the size of the fish I had managed to catch. He had caught the biggest one, a fact he was proud of. The lunch Hop-Sing had sent with us had contained roast beef sandwiches and apple pie. I had unashamedly eaten nearly twice as much as Joe, which was another point he teased me on.

"There you are," Ben said as he came out on the porch. His eyes were sad, though he kept his tone amused. "I wondered where you two had gotten yourselves."

"This city girl had never been fishing, so I decided to remedy that," Joe said as he swung to the ground. He came around his horse, Cochise, to help me down. "She started to get the knack of it towards the end. At least she stopped screaming when a fish nibbled on her line."

Ben chuckled. "I'm glad you two had a good day." He shifted his gaze to Joe and said, in an abruptly serious tone, "Hoss is back."

Joe's eyes flicked to me and he cleared his throat. "I better hand over this fish to Hop-Sing and get Cochise and Belle taken care of," he said in a too bright way.

A feeling of dread washed over me. "Is something wrong?" I asked uneasily.

"Why don't you come inside and talk to Hoss," Ben said, holding his hand out. He settled his arm around my shoulders as he fell into step beside me.

My mind was a whirl of anxiety. What had happened? Where had Hoss gone that would concern me? In an instant, as I crossed the threshold, I knew. My father. He'd gone to bury my father.

Hoss straightened up from where he'd been leaning against the fireplace. "Miss Rosemary," he said. He swallowed hard and then cleared his throat. "Have a seat."

Sending a quick glance over at Ben, I walked to the settee and had a seat. I folded my hands in my lap as I looked up at Hoss. "Is something wrong?" I asked, anxious to get the conversation over with. The large man sent an almost agonized look at his father, who had taken up position behind me. "You're scaring me."

"I don't mean to, Miss Rosemary," Hoss said quickly. "Early this morning, I rode out to find your daddy's wagon. I made sure he had a proper burial."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. I felt proud at how calm I was staying. "Thank you. That can't have been easy."

Hoss' expression became confused as he again looked at Ben. "I'm sorry there was nothing worth saving," he said. He moved to the large table they kept i front of their sitting area and picked up a small cup. My breath caught as I recognized the dainty flower pattern. He carried it to me. "Just this. The rest was smashed up."

My mama's china set. My hands were shaking as I took it from him. "Th-thank you," I managed to say before my voice choked. Tears welled up in my eyes as I ran my fingers over the unharmed cup.

"I'm sorry I couldn't bring you anything else. Those rotten..." Words failed him for a moment before he pressed on. "They took their frustrations out on your belongings."

A smile quivered on my lips. "I imagine my escape into the wilderness didn't please them."

For a third time, Hoss focused his attention on his father. None of them had ever asked me how I had got away from the men who killed my father. In fact, aside from a few details on my life in San Francisco, they didn't press me with questions about my ordeal.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Ben said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

But, for some reason I _did_ want to tell them. "I think...they knew I was there, in the wagon," I said, fixing my gaze on the china cup in my hands. "When I heard them coming toward the back of the wagon, I held onto the first pieces of clothing I found and climbed out the front. As much as I was stumbling and tripping over every rock, I think the only reason they didn't catch me is they were drunk and having as much trouble as I was."

"So you just ran into the forest?" Hoss asked.

"Straight into the river," I said, remembering my panicked flight and how I had lost them, "and it was too cold for them to follow me. They stood on the bank, screaming at me as I let myself drift away. I was so cold when I finally dragged myself out of the water. And then I just ran."

As long as I had been on my own, I realized I hadn't kept to a straight course, otherwise I would have run onto the Ponderosa sooner.

"Not many young women would have had the presence of mind to do that," Ben commented softly. His hand gently squeezed my shoulder. "Your father would have been proud of you."

While I had managed to keep tears from falling, the quiet statement shattered my equilibrium. Hoss' large hands came over mine as I cried, and Ben's hand never left my shoulder. I would never be able repay these people for all they had done for me.

* * *

Giggling wildly, Joe rushed into the house with a newspaper in his hand. "Rosemary, you need to read this," he declared.

Surprised, I put aside the black shirt I had found in a mending pile. At least, I assumed it was a stack of clothing that needed simple repairs. It was astonishing the damage I was found: sleeves torn and seams ripped. It was clear whoever did the mending hadn't gotten to it in some time, or maybe they hadn't been able to send it out. It was one way I could be useful.

"Where did you get that?" I asked as I tried to focus on the words being waved in my face. "Isn't it dangerous for you to go into town?"

"Oh, Sid brought it back from town for us."

Pulling the paper from Joe, I was finally able to make sense of what he wanted me to see. It was an article by 'Josh', Mr. Clemens' pen name. It detailed Judge Billington's habit of using the the pronoun 'I' in his speeches, and conveyed the moniker of Professor Personal Pronoun on the judge. I caught myself snickering several times as I read.

"Great, isn't it?" Joe asked, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"It's something," I said, folding the paper. "So that's how he intends on fighting the judge? Getting him laughed out of office?"

"If he keeps this up, I can see him succeeding."

"The pen will win out," I couldn't resist saying.

Joe gave a grimace at that. "Maybe. But I can't see him not needing a gun before this is all over."

I picked up the mending and leaned back. "I have no doubt you'll be right there to fill in that need." It would be the right thing to do. I had only known these Cartwrights a short time, but I knew without a doubt that they would do whatever was the right, moral thing. "Thank you for showing me."

"What are you doing?" Joe asked, frowning at the needle and thread in my hand. "Hop-Sing usually takes care of that."

"Hop-Sing has many responsibilities," I said primly. Glancing, I caught the eye of the cook, who had entered from the kitchen. "I'm sure he won't mind my taking this small task off his hands while I'm here. I've been complimented on my stitching before."

"Why you bother Missy?" Hop-Sing demanded, startling Little Joe. "Why leave work to brothers and father? Go back to job!"

"Aw, Hop-Sing, I'm not bothering her," Joe said, his tone placating.

"You are, actually," I said, focusing on my stitches.

With that, Hop-Sing shooed Joe out of the house, ignoring the young man's protests. Tilting my head back, I laughed as the cook slammed the door shut.

* * *

That wasn't the last time one of the Cartwrights brought a copy of the Territorial Enterprise in for me to read. Joe must have told them I was amused by Mr. Clemens witty articles about Judge Billington. Anything that made me laugh, whether it was putting Joe in his place when he became too outrageous or a comical story, was quick to be brought to my attention.

Then, word came that Lash had taken action against Mr. Clemens and had the newspaper man beaten. Alarmed by this, the Cartwrights decided to ride into town. Ben seemed to see the worry on my face as I watched them mount. "Hop-Sing will make sure you're safe," he assured me. "If anything should happen, he'll get you back to San Francisco."

Did I want to go back? I wondered as I watched them ride away. I thought returning to my old home was what I wanted, but had come to realize there was nothing left for me there. I had barely thought about any of the friends I had left behind. They wouldn't understand how everything I had gone through had changed me. In any event, none of them would be in a position to take me in.

Long after the Cartwrights had vanished from sight, I stood on the porch, leaning against the railing. My gaze stayed on the horizon, taking in the beauty of the world around me. The Nevada territory had grabbed hold of me and had no intention of letting me go.

Hop-Sing convinced me to come in to eat. Worry made it hard to eat much, and thankfully the cook seemed to understand. "They be back soon," he said cheerfully. "Maybe one do something foolish and get hurt, but family all come home."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Happen often."

He meant it to be reassuring, I am sure, but knowing that this family that had so kindly taken me in had a penchant for trouble only worried me more. I gave up on food, and elected to take some mending out to the porch. There I sat, dividing my attention between keeping even stitches and watching the horizon.

Finally, as the sun began to set, I spotted four figures on horses, and another on a much smaller mule, coming towards the Ponderosa. Relieved, I set aside my unfinished work and got to my feet. "Hop-Sing! They're coming," I called out, certain that the cook was nearby.

Little Joe was the first one to reach me. "We've won!" he shouted, bringing Cochise to a sudden stop. He swung to the ground. "You should have seen it, Rosemary. We got there just in time for all of the action."

"Trust a youth to see the bright side of things," Mr. Clemens remarked with a laugh.

"Joseph, being involved in a gun battle is nothing to be proud of," Ben said sternly as he dismounted.

I glanced between them and saw no hint of injury. "Is it over then?"

"Lash's men were caught attempting murder," Adam responded, sounding immensely pleased with events. "It won't take long before they tell all to the sheriff. Judge Billington was caught accepting bribes from Lash, so I doubt he'll be reelected. The townspeople don't look kindly on an unfair judge."

Hoss chuckled as he tied his horse, Chubbs, reins to the hitching post. "I'd say Sam Clemens take on things had something to do with that," he reminded. His expression twisted with confusion. "Or should we be calling you Mark Twain now?"

"Miss Rosemary, the answer to your question is we hope so," Mr. Clemens said to me. "The Cartwrights graciously invited me to spend some time here, well away from the politics of Virginia City."

"I'll tell Hop-Sing that we have a guest," I said. How easily I had slipped into the role of daughter of the house! I had often played hostess for my father when his fellow teachers came to dinner and I was more than happy to do it for these four men who had become like family.


	9. Chapter 9

Spinning on my heel, I hurried to where Hop-Sing had the front door open. A quick word was all it took to send him off to lay one more place setting on the table. I was able to direct Mr. Clemens to the side guest room just off the dining room to get cleaned up while the Cartwrights went to their rooms to do the same. I helped Hop-Sing place the steaming dishes of food on the table.

Spirits were high at the meal. Joe seemed content to run through every second of their gun battle with Lash's men. Adam tried on every occasion to turn the conversation to the political aspects of what Mr. Clemens had uncovered. Hoss was content to inhale every bit of food around him, and Ben looked on with an amused, indulgent expression on his face.

"And what plans do you have for your future, Miss Lawson? Will you be visiting the Cartwrights for much longer?"

Startled by Mr. Clemens question, I almost choked on my roast beef. "I don't know," I said honestly as the Cartwrights quieted. As far as I knew, the Cartwrights hadn't told anyone my story. "I have no family left in San Francisco. No home."

Mr. Clemens raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Lawson."

"I have an idea," Hoss said suddenly. "Rosemary's stitching is so fine, I bet Miss Frances in town could use her in her dress shop."

Joe's snort showed clearly what he thought of that suggestion. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Well, then, what if Rosemary took over for Miss Jones? Ain't you been saying she's been talking about taking some time to bring her ma here, Adam?"

"Hoss, that's an even worse suggestion!" Joe objected, while Adam and Ben exchanged looks.

The newspaperman chuckled. "I'm almost sorry I brought this up."

"I do like children," I said, interested in the second suggestion. I may be good at sewing, but I hardly wanted to spend all day doing it! "I volunteered at an orphanage in San Francisco and enjoyed every minute."

"It might be worth looking into," Adam said, nodding thoughtfully. "Miss Jones has been telling the school board she wants to spend more time with her mother."

Ben nodded. "That she has," he agreed. "Virginia City may be a bit rough at times, Rosemary, but it's a good place to start over."

A new life. My former life had been unremarkable. Would this one be the exact opposite? As the Cartwrights all began talking again, I glanced between them. With the Cartwrights as my friends, I didn't see how it could be anything but exciting. Mr. Clemens caught my eye and shook his head with a smile.

* * *

With Lash arrested and the warrants rescinded, the Cartwrights were free to ride into Virginia City. Ben used his contacts, and called in a few favors with the school board. The fact that my father had been a teacher was a point in my favor. I was formally offered the position of schoolteacher, on the condition that I passed the exam for my teaching license.

In the midst of my studying for the exam, Mr. Clemens decided that he had done all he could in Virginia City and his time would be better spent elsewhere. He returned to town and packed up his belongings. On the day that he was to board the stage, I joined the Cartwrights to wish him goodbye and a safe journey.

Just before the stage left, the latest edition of the Territorial Enterprise came off the printing press and was brought for us all to hear the news: Judge Billington had been defeated and Henry Walker was the new judge of Virginia City. On that victorious note, Mr. Samuel Clemens, soon to be known by his pen name Mark Twain, left Virginia City.

But if I thought that life would calm down some, I was never more mistaken.

Joe was determined to teach me how to ride before I moved myself into the teacher's quarters in the back of the school house. He had me out on Belle every free moment he had, encouraging me to relax and trust the animal. My offer to take the mule Mr. Clemens had used to get around was met with disbelief and scorn. And when I argued that I wouldn't have my own horse was ignored with the offer of for the Cartwrights to give me a horse of my own.

Was there no limit to their generosity?

* * *

I passed the exam with flying colors and reluctantly began the arrangements to move. The Ponderosa had become my safe haven against the world and now I was faced with having to leave it. The Cartwrights assured me that I was no burden and was welcome to stay as long as I felt I needed to.

Oddly enough, it wasn't Adam who took me to meet the current teacher, Miss Abigail Jones. I had assumed he or Ben would be the most logical choice since they were both members of the school board. But it was Hoss who took me in the buggy, and he seemed secretly amused about something he wouldn't share right then.

Miss Jones was a well educated, pleasant woman. She took me through her curriculum and stressed that I would be faced with illiteracy as I had never seen before. It was when she began praising Adam Cartwright's education that I began to realize why Adam hadn't brought me. Miss Jones had the look of a starstruck teenage girl about her.

When it was time to leave and Hoss was driving the wagon away from the schoolhouse, I dissolved into laughter. He didn't ask what had amused me, only chuckled. "It's no surprise that Adam was eager for a new teacher in town," he finally said when he contained himself. "He just don't want to face Miss Abigail every time there's a board meeting or he has to deliver some news to the schoolhouse."

"Poor Adam," I said, shaking my head. "She seems so sincere."

There was no doubt that Adam Cartwright was a good looking man, with his dark features and deep voice, and I could understand why a lady would be attracted to him. I didn't share those feelings. It was difficult to think romantically of someone who had hauled you around like a sack of flour!

Hoss guided the wagon to the general store. "I just got to pick up a few things," he said as he set the brake. He climbed down. "It won't take but a few minutes. You want to come in or set a minute?"

"I'm fine right where I am," I answered with a smile.

Nodding, Hoss hurried into the general store. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back to catch the sun's rays on my face. The sounds of Virginia City floated around me: hoofbeats on the ground, men and women talking as they walked from building to building, the shouts of Chinese men at work. It was a far cry from the sounds of the forest where the wind and animal cries had been my only companions.

"Look at all the pretty women, Mack."

Maybe it was because I was taking it all in, but that comment reached me clearly. My breath caught in my throat. I recognized that voice, although this time it was clear and free of the effects of drink. Entwining my trembling fingers together, I took a deep breath and tried to calm my heart. I had to be wrong. He couldn't be _here_. How could he be here?

"I'd say these respectable women have a little more class than the likes of you can expect to ever enjoy. You'll have to find some whore in the saloon."

"Well, if we'd have caught that gal we wouldn't need to waste good money on a whore."

A guttural voice, a laughing, uncaring note in it. The second man who had ridden into my father's camp and the one who had shot my father. I wanted to scream or shout, but I could barely breathe. My eyes flew open as I searched the sidewalk, pushing myself off the seat to get a better view. Why were there so many men walking on the sidewalk. My gaze flicked from one to the next, trying to recognize something.

"Rosemary? Rosemary?"

With a start, I dropped my gaze to find Hoss looking up at me. How long had I been staring at nothing, searching for someone who wasn't really there? "You alright?" Hoss asked.

"I don't know," I said honestly, my voice coming out strangled and tense. "I thought...I thought...it doesn't matter. I was wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

Shaking my head, I sat down. "I don't know."

Hoss tried valiantly to talk to me on the ride back to the Ponderosa. I kept my hands tightly clasped together in an attempt to hide the way they trembled. All I could think about were the two voices I had heard. _Had_ I really heard them? Or was my mind playing tricks? Of all the places for them to have gone, what were the odds that they would come to Virginia City?

As soon as the wagon stopped in front of the house, I scrambled down without waiting for Hoss to help me. He called after me but I couldn't answer as I rushed to my room. Even with the door closed, though, I didn't feel safe. I paced the floor, suddenly full of nervous energy that wouldn't vanish no matter how much I moved.

" _Well, if we'd have caught that gal we wouldn't need to waste good money on a whore."_

Those cruel, heartless words came back to my mind and I shuddered. I had narrowly escaped a terrible fate, but the past had come back to haunt me. Tears brimming in my eyes, I collapsed against the wall and slid down. Would I never be free of what had happened? I pulled my knees up to my chest.


	10. Chapter 10

Several times I heard knocks on my door but I couldn't bring myself to respond. I hid my face in my knees. When a gentle hand touched my shoulder, I gave a start, lifting my head. Crouching beside me, Ben Cartwright had a concerned expression on his face. "Is everything alright?" he asked. "Hoss thought you were acting spooked after you went into town."

"I don't know," I admitted honestly. I rubbed at my face. "I heard...and I thought...I don't know."

"What did you hear?"

"The men who killed my father."

Ben's brown furrowed. "Are you certain?"

"Yes!" I said and then hesitated. I brought my hands up to my face. "I don't know. It sounded like them and what they said—" I broke off with a shudder. I was pulled into a comforting hug.

"Everything's going to be alright, Rosemary," Ben said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. "Why don't you come out and tell us all exactly what you heard? You've worried the boys terribly by shutting yourself up in here and missing supper."

Had that much time passed? I didn't even feel hungry. Sniffing, I nodded and got to my feet with his help. Even though I knew the Cartwright sons were watching me, or maybe because of it, I kept my eyes on the floor when I walked into the great room. I saw down on the settee and clasped my hands in my lap.

In as few words as possible, and as much as I didn't want to repeat the words I heard, I told them. There was a moment of silence after I stopped talking. And then, "You're sure you heard the same voices?"

I sighed. "I don't think I could forget the voices of the two men who killed my father."

Placatingly, Adam held his hands up and sat back. "Sheriff Coffee is going to ask you the same question when we tell him this," he said. "It is hard to believe that those two would come to Virginia City when there are a hundred other, seedier places for them to go to."

"What are we supposed to tell the sheriff?" Joe asked, glancing at his father. "Rosemary heard two men who _sound_ like the men who killed her father. No description. Nothing to go on. He'll laugh us out of Virginia City."

"Are you suggesting we don't tell him?"

"What good would that do?" Hoss asked. "Without some kind of description, Roy won't have anything to go on. And if these two skunks are in town, they'll get wind of Rosemary remembering them. They won't take too kindly to that."

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "If no one says anything, they'll just leave town and move on."

Adam raised an eyebrow at his youngest brother. "So we let two men get away with murder," he said bluntly. "That is your solution?"

"I think you're forgetting that Roy is out of town," Hoss said. "

Ben carefully put his hand on my arm. When I had first entered the house, he had tried to put his arm around my shoulder but I had recoiled from him. "I think we're forgetting the most important thing," he said. "Rosemary, what do you want to do?"

How could he ask me that right then? How could I possibly know what to do?

"Virginia City has become quite a place since they discovered silver here," he commented in an off-hand way. "Men come and go every day. Some are miners with big dreams but couldn't quite make it. Others are crooks and criminals who think they can take advantage of a boom town. There's only a handful of people left that have been here from the beginning."

Though I couldn't quite grasp what he was getting at, I knew there had to be a purpose to his words. "That's..not surprising," I managed to say, unable to think of anything else appropriate.

He shook his head. "What I'm trying to get at is there's not many who stay past a few weeks, Rosemary. Not unless they have something, a job or a family, that keeps them here."

"So, the men who killed my father will be gone soon enough?" My gaze flicked to Joe, who had taken on a smug expression.

"It's possible. You may walk the streets of Virginia City for the next fifty years and never hear those two voices again. On the other hand, though, you might turn a corner and you'll hear them talking. Or maybe you're walking some other street, years from now, and there they are."

As my father had done before, Ben was presenting both sides of the case. How well I recalled that feeling of frustration and how much I wanted my father to just tell me what the right thing to do was whenever he would do this. "I don't know what should I do?" The question left my lips before I could stop it. I already knew what he would say.

"I can't tell you what to do, Rosemary. All I know is that you're a brave young woman, whichever you decide."

For a moment, I thought about it, closing my eyes. I took a deep breath. This wasn't a decision to make lightly. Now that I was somewhat calmer, maybe it was time for me to consider the pros and cons, like my father taught me. "Can I think on it?"

"Take all the time you need."

As if he had been eavesdropping, Hop-Sing hurried in with a tea tray. He set it in front of me. "Missy need tea!" he declared before hurrying back out.

On instinct, I reached to pour the tea but my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn't grasp the handle properly. Ben caught my hands and said, "It's fine, Rosemary."

* * *

When Joe would have pestered me, Ben kept him from speaking his piece. The other two seemed to sense I needed space. This was something I had to work through on my own. As soon as I was alone, with Hop-Sing's excellent tea to warm me, I sat down to put it all on paper. Just as my father had shown me years earlier.

I had changed since San Francisco. If I returned there, maybe I would be able to find some way of fitting into a city that was bustling with life. My father had always told me, though, that you can't go back to something you once had because it is never the same and there were only disappointments. Firmly, I drew a line through that city's name, removing it from my list of options.

There were other choices left before me. If I went to the sheriff, everyone would know what had happened to me. They would assume, like I'm sure the Cartwrights had, that something worse had happened to me. Could I face their pity and know they thought I was no longer an innocent girl? Of course, I could stay and not say a word about my ordeal. Oh, there would be speculation about where I had come from and how I knew the Cartwrights but in a place like Virginia City one person's story was of no importance.

Or...I could leave. The Cartwrights had sworn to help me and I knew they would send me wherever I wished to go. But as had been pointed out, I wouldn't truly escape. I would always wonder if I would hear those two voices again.

If I didn't tell a law officer while I had the chance, two murderers will have gotten away with their crime without punishment. What kind of daughter allowed that?

I agonized over the facts and benefits all night. As dawn came, I knew there no other choice I could make. At least not one that I would be able to live with myself after I made it. Dressed in the pink dress, I went to the dining room to tell them my decision. "I want my father to have justice done, if it's possible."

The Cartwright patriarch nodded in understanding. "We'll take you to speak to the marshal."

"You don't have anything to be afraid of, Rosemary," Joe spoke up. "We won't let anything happen to you."

I wanted to believe him, but just couldn't.

* * *

The marshal kept quiet while I related my father's murder and my escape. I couldn't keep from glancing at the four men who had accompanied me as I spoke of how they had brought me out of the wilderness. When I was done, I waited for the questions to come.

They didn't.

"I sympathize, miss, I really do, and I'm sorry for your loss," he said, reaching for his coffee. "It sounds as though you've gone through quite an ordeal, and maybe you've understated it. But I'm afraid there's very little I can do. Not without an exact description of the criminals."

"Marshall, there must be something you can do," Ben said, frowning at the unhelpful marshal. Behind him,Joe stirred, but Hoss grabbed hold of him as if to hold him back. "Surely you can see that Miss Lawson is frightened."

The marshal nodded. "Yes, I do see it. That does not change the fact that I can do nothing."

"Miss Lawson is about to move into the schoolhouse to take over teaching," Adam spoke up. "Surely, you can give her some assurance that she will be safe."

"Naturally I can have one of the deputies ride past often."

Ben's mouth compressed into a thin line. "Sorry for taking up your time, Marshal," he said, stepping forward to take my elbow. I allowed him to pull me to my feet. "Come along, Rosemary."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cartwright," the marshal called after us.

Joe barely kept his indignation contained until we were out on the sidewalk. "I told you it would be useless. We should have waited for Roy. At least he would offered more than to send a deputy riding past the schoolhouse every now and then."

"You're not helping, Joe," Ben said with a sigh.

"Well, at least we know the marshal isn't the kind of man to go spreading this story," Hoss commented. "Those varmints won't know Rosemary knows they're here and won't have no call to bother her."

That was the only thing I was certain of: the Cartwrights would do everything in their power to keep me safe. I could only hope it was enough. Placing my hand at his elbow, Ben kept his hand over mine as if to make sure I didn't go anywhere. He began walking slowly and I had no choice but to keep pace. I found myself straining to hear every voice of the men who passed by.

"Hear anything?" Adam asked when he opened the door of the little restaurant for me.

I shook my head, my cheeks heating up with a blush. "It was a vain hope."

"What is life without hope, however vain it might seem?"

A smile, my first in twenty four hours, tugged at my lips. "Are you a philosopher?"

Joe gave a snort of laughter as he held a chair out for me. "If there's one thing Adam has no problem doing, it's philosophizing with big words and all that eastern college education."

"Just because I can pass my time considering matters other than the next bar fight, doesn't mean you should disparage it," Adam said in an oddly haughty way. A smile played on his face.

"Boys, enough," Ben said with a sigh. He glanced at me as he seated himself on my right. "Once those two get going, almost nothing will stop them."

Given how quickly Adam and Joe fell quiet when their father spoke, I didn't quite believe Ben's words. I was beginning to understand why people either loved this family or hated them. I would hate to be someone on their bad side.


	11. Chapter 11

"Rosemary. Hey, Rosemary!"

Hearing Joe's hissed whisper made me look up from where I had been packing my things. It amazed me how many things I had amassed in just over a month with the Cartwrights. Hop-Sing had found a smallish trunk for me to pack it all in for the trip to the schoolhouse. I would be making the move the following morning and then taking over teaching on Monday.

"Rosemary, over here!"

My eyes finally located Joe leaning in through the window. "Joe, what are you doing?" I asked as I pushed myself to my feet.

He flashed his cocky grin at me. "Come outside, and don't tell anyone."

Then, he was gone as quickly as he had come. Puzzled, I hurried to the door and stepped out. It took a few moments before I spotted him waving at me from the corner of the building. Frowning, I lifted my skirts to hurry after him.

Grinning from ear to ear, Joe led me away from the house. "Joe, where are you taking me?"

Even as I asked, Joe spun to face me. "Right here."

It was well cleared area. On the opposite edge stood a row of turned over buckets, and on those buckets were glass bottles and tin cans. Confused, I raised an eyebrow at Joe. "What are we doing here?"

"I'm going to teach you how to shoot."

"What?"

Nodding eagerly, Joe pulled his pistol out of holster and brought it to me. "We'll do the pistol and a rifle, just so you know how they both feel," he said. "I figured if you knew how to defend yourself, you might feel a bit safer."

Reaching over, he put the pistol in my hand. The weight surprised me for a moment. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Why do you doubt me?" he asked with a wounded expression on his face.

"Does the rest of the family know about this?" From the way he hemmed and hawed, I knew he hadn't. "Is that you brought me all the way out here?"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Now let me show you what to do."

Undeterred by my hesitancy, Joe not only showed how to aim but the best grip to have on the handle. Before he would let me shoot, he explained every part of the gun and demonstrated how to load the pistol. We were out there for well over an hour before he stepped back to let me take aim at the targets he had set up.

Five shots, and I didn't even come close to hitting my target. "Well, it's not the worst shooting I've seen," Joe commented as he considered the targets. "You just need practice."

"Or maybe the best I can hope for is scaring intruders off."

"Maybe you'll do better with a rifle," he suggested going to where he had rested the weapon against a tree. "It's the same principle, just a little heavier."

"Joseph!"

Although Ben's indignation was directed at my current teacher, I flinched and spun around. Hastily, Joe snatched his pistol from my hands and slipped it into his holster. "Hey, Pa," he said brightly as he turned. "What are you doing out here?"

"I think the question is what are you two doing out here?"

Joe's immediate response of "Nothing!" only raised Ben's eyebrow.

"Rosemary, do you have a different answer for me?"

For a moment, I wobbled between siding with Joe and denying everything, especially since Joe was sending a desperate look at me. In the long run, though, I had to be honest and hope to play it off. "Joe was teaching me how to shoot and defend myself," I said brightly. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it."

"I see."

Unsurprisingly, Joe's expression turned sour. "I figured it would help Rosemary feel safe out at the schoolhouse," he said, struggling to sound as unconcerned as I had. "After all, the marshal only promised a deputy would ride by when he could."

Twisting my face into a grimace, I glared at him. I did not need to be reminded. "And you were just trying to help," Ben said slowly.

"Exactly!"

We both just stood there, waiting while Ben looked from Joe to me and then back at Joe. "Next time, Joseph, warn us ahead of time when you decide to do some shooting practice," he finally said. "We thought you had come across a rustler or some thief."

With that, Ben turned and walked away. Joe blinked and then picked up the rifle. "Ok. Well, let's see how you do with a rifle," he said. He put it in my hands. "The same principle applies. Don't jerk or pull on the trigger. Squeeze it gently."

As I brought the rifle up and braced it against my shoulder, I wished Ben had not been quite so understanding about the whole thing.

* * *

Being left at the schoolhouse left me more emotional than I thought it would. Hoss carried my belongings while Joe and Adam scouted around the yard to make sure there was no one out there. Ben patted my shoulder and tried to assure me that all would be well. Far too soon, at least to my thinking, they left me.

Trying to hold myself together, I put my things in their proper places: boots under my bed, clothes hanging on the right nails and my mother's tea cup on a shelf where it wouldn't be harmed in any way. The task didn't take me long at all. Pots, pans, and dishes had been provided by the town, along with a pantry full of food. From there, I moved to acquaint myself with my classroom.

It was slightly larger than the classrooms I was used to seeing in San Francisco, which made sense. After all, every grade would be in one room, instead of being divided up. Somehow, I would have to keep all my students busy at once.

I ran my hands over the books, relieved to see the familiar spines of the McGuffey readers. These I knew well and was confident I could teach them. Miss Jones left me a detailed explanation of her methods, expanding on the points she had told me in person, and I found myself getting confused. Shaking my head, I set it aside and hoped I would be forgiving for trying my own style.

As the sun began to set, I retreated to my own part of the schoolhouse. Hop-Sing had made up a picnic basket for me so that I wouldn't need to cook. There was so much I imagined I would have no need to cook all weekend, a fact I regretted as it would have given me something to do.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Though I knew I had locked the door securely and the windows would not open without making enough noise to wake the dead, I was still uneasy. I kept the pistol Joe had given to me under my pillow and whenever I woke with a start, it was what I reached for.

Thus, I started off Saturday feeling exhausted. With nothing pressing, I decided to give the floors a good scrubbing. I spent hours on my hands and knees washing the floors of my section and the classroom. Bucket after bucket of dirty water had to be dumped out as I worked, and when I sat back on my heels I was certain the floors had never looked better.

"A job well done miss."

The guttural voice came from behind me and my back stiffened. "Thank you," I answered as calmly as I could. My eyes went to where I had left the pistol on the teacher's desk. I had started out keeping it right by me but as the task had stretched on, I had forgotten about it. How I wished I had kept better track of it!

"Are you out here all alone?" There was an eagerness to the man's voice that made my skin crawl. Even if I didn't know the crimes he had committed, I would not have trusted him.

"No," I flat out lied. Joe had promised to come by after he finished his chores for the day. Squinting at the shadows and trying to figure out what hour it was, I fervently hoped he would be coming soon. "My brothers will be here soon."

"Your brothers, huh?" The man chuckled. "That would be impressive given that I heard around town that you ain't got no family."

That taunt angered me. "You seem to know a great deal about me, mister," I said, forcing myself to stand up. Curling my fingers around the bucket handle, I turned and faced the man who had killed my father. Whatever he had to say in answer was lost on me as I studied him.

There was nothing extraordinary about him. He was about six foot tall, and his clothes were all one color: dirt. His hair was an oily black, evidence that he hadn't seen a bar of soap in a long time. But what really made me shudder was the expression in his brown eyes and the way they roved over me.

He fully intended on having his way with me.

The Rosemary I was before I had lost my father would have been frozen with fear but not this time. I had saved myself in the wilderness, and I would do so again. Determined, I raised my chin. "Please leave."

"Now that ain't very nice, Miss Teacher," he said, laughing again. "Ain't you supposed to teach your students by setting the example?"

"My students are children, you are not." I readied myself to rush for the pistol.

If anything, his grin widened. "And neither are you. I think you and I could have a good time together. The name's Mack Jonson. Why don't you tell me yours?""

As hard as I could, I flung the bucket, water and all, at him. As he yelled, I spun and bolted through the doorway. I could hear him right behind me as I slipped on the wet boards. My hand touched the polished wood of the pistol handle when my attacker grabbed me around the waist. I screamed as he jerked me away from the desk.

"A guy might be offended by your hospitality, missy," he snarled, his face inches from mine. Dirty water dripped from his chin and nose. He threw me onto the floor and tossed his worn hat aside.


	12. Chapter 12

Desperately, I took advantage of where I was and kicked out with my foot. My boot connected solidly with his left ankle. He howled with pain and jumped back, grabbing at his ankle. I pulled myself up and lunged for the desk. This time, my fingers curled around the handle and it stayed in my hand as I spun around.

"Not another move," I ordered, holding my hand steady as I aimed at his chest. My ability to hit a target hadn't gained much improvement the day Joe and I had practiced, but I had the feeling I wouldn't be able to miss at this distance.

For a second, I thought the man would comply but then he laughed. "A bitty thing like you wouldn't actually pull the trigger," he said. "Do you really want blood on your hands?"

"You killed my father," I answered evenly. "You tell me."

His brow furrowed with confusion and he took a step forward. My finger squeezed the trigger as gently as Joe had taught me, and the gunshot sounded even louder in the confines of the schoolroom. He staggered back, spinning slightly to catch himself on one of the small desks. Partly from the kick and partly from shock, I reeled back a step, hitting the front edge of the desk.

The man's mouth was agape as he raised a hand to his right shoulder and he went down on his knees. "You shot me!"

"Rosemary!"

Two panicked shouts reached me. Breathing out, I managed to keep my gun pointed at my attacker, even though I doubted he was going anywhere. Joe and Adam Cartwright came skidding through the door, their own guns in his hand. They looked from me to the man on the floor. "Are you alright?" Joe demanded.

"No," I said honestly. "Mr. Mack Jonson here is in need of a doctor and a jail cell."

Spinning his pistol into his holster, Joe marched to my attacker and pushed the man's hand away from the wound. "I've seen worse," he decreed, straightening up. He stepped closer to me and held his hand out. "Why don't you hand me the gun and go get the marshal? He'll see that Jonson get's any medical treatment."

I didn't want to let go of the gun, but Joe maneuvered his fingers around mine, forcing me to release it. My hand began to shake the second the pistol left my grip. "I'm not sure I have it in me," I confessed.

"Joe, you go," Adam ordered. He cut off his youngest brother's protest. "Go."

Heaving a loud sigh, Joe turned and hurried out of the schoolhouse. Suddenly drained, I sagged against the desk. "He's bleeding on the floor," I observed distantly.

"I'm afraid he is," Adam agreed. "Is that a problem?"

"I just finished washing it."

Seriously, Adam nodded. "I can see how that would bother you. I'm sure you can convince Joe to help you clean it up once he gets back."

Well, as long as _someone_ helped, I'd be satisfied. I wrapped my arms around my waist to try to hide the trembling. "That girl shot me," my attacker moaned.

Quicker than I could follow, Adam shoved the man over. Clearly, since he wasn't going to be cleaning up the blood, he didn't care whether the man bled even more or not. "I'd say she had good reason," Adam said sharply. "Ah, Rosemary, Hop-Sing insisted we bring you out for Sunday supper tomorrow. I don't suppose you'd object to us taking you home tonight."

"No, I won't mind." I had managed a _single_ night on my own. Little steps, I reminded myself before self-recrimination could build.

"Good." When Jonson tried to sit up, Adam kept him down with one foot. "Be sure you ask Joe about Slim Henry."

"Slim Henry? Who's that?"

Jonson groaned on the floor. "I need a doctor. I think I'm dying."

"Be quiet," Adam told him sharply. "Yes, Slim Henry. He works for us, and he's been saving up for a farm of us own. He was asking about you. Joe seemed a little put out by the questions."

Taken aback, all I could think of to say was, "Oh" which made Adam chuckle. A moment later, the marshal came running in with Joe and an unfamiliar man right behind him.

"Marshal, she shot me," Jonson said immediately as he was pulled to his feet.

"And you did nothing to deserve it," the marshal responded. He glanced at me. "Is this the man?" At my nod, his expression hardened. "Alright, mister, you're under arrest for attacking Miss Lawson here, and for the murder of her father John Lawson."

Joe came around to stand by me as Jonson spluttered. "I don't even know who that is."

"Perhaps I can refresh your memory," I said, surprising myself at how cold my tone came out. "An old man camped out by the Truckee River?"

His eyes widened and made a lunge towards me. "You!" he snarled, as the marshal, a deputy, and Adam grabbed a hold of him. For a man who had been losing blood, he seemed determined to get to me. "You should have died out there!"

"That's confession enough for me," the marshal said. "Doc, you'll be able to see to him in a jail cell, right?"

"Yes," the doctor said grimly. He followed the lawmen out of the schoolhouse with the prisoner.

Joe put his arm around me. "Come on, Rosemary," he said. "What you need is some of Hop-Sing's tea."

I shook my head. "I can't."

He turned to stare at me as Adam began to chuckle. "Why not? What's wrong?"

"I can't leave the blood on the floor. It will stain and the children will see it." In a manipulative move, I widened my eyes. "Joe, please."

"Don't you worry, Rosemary, we'll have this cleaned up in no time," Joe immediately declared. He gestured at his brother. "Come on, Adam."

The dark haired man was already shaking his head. "A small spot like that needs only one pair of hands, little brother," he said. "No, you go ahead and clean it up for Rosemary, while I help her get her things ready for an overnight stay on the Ponderosa."

Leaving Joe with his jaw dropped, Adam took my arm and escorted me to the back part of the building. Almost hysterical laughter bubbled up as I walked.

Maybe, finally, my nightmare would be over.

* * *

Judge Henry Walker's first, official case in Virginia City was mine. Mack Jonson and his partner, who was arrested once Jonson decided he wasn't going down alone, stood trial for the murder of my father. Their lawyer didn't even bother with a defense once I gave my testimony. Jonson was sentenced to hang, and his partner would go to prison for ten years for being an accessory to the crime of murder.

As the Cartwrights escorted me out of the courtroom, one on every side of me to keep the gawkers and miners, Joe ran into a short, grizzled man. "You Cartwrights need to watch where you're going!" the old man snapped out. "Always going about like you own the world!"

For some reason, Joe's eyes started to sparkle with mischief and he began to grin. "Hey, Old Timer," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter of the crowd. "What ever happened to that wild-man you saw?"

Startled, I gave the man a second look and I recognized him: the little man with the mule. "Now, you know that evil creature fell into Lake Tahoe and drowned," he said with a grumble. He pushed his way past, carrying with him the scent of alcohol. The Cartwrights and I burst into laughter, drawing confused looks from the onlookers who had gathered for the trial.

"Well, Rosemary, you've been described as a wild-man and wildcat," Adam commented once we had all settled down. Hoss and Joe hung back, still chortling about the joke, while Ben and Adam escorted me to the waiting buggy. "What do you think is next for you?"

Ben boosted me up into the buggy and I sat down. My eyes wandered over the busy streets and the people who were going about their business. I wasn't alone anymore. Slim Henry, a charming young man, had asked to the next dance and I had friends in the Cartwrights. Justice had been done, and my father could rest in peace.

"I don't know," I finally said. "I guess I'm just going to have to wait and find out."

* * *

Sitting at the teacher's desk in the schoolroom, I carefully dipped my pen in the ink. I had put this task aside for too long. Determined, I leaned over the paper and began to write:

 _Dear Mrs. Dawson,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to write to you. So much has happened, both good and bad. Before I go any further, I must ask: did you by any chance read a newspaper tale some time back about a wildman? Well..._

* * *

 _ **A/N: Well, we've reached the end of Rosemary's tale. I hope you've all enjoyed it. I have left it open so that IF inspiration hits, I can explore more of Rosemary's adventures with the Cartwrights. Until the next story!**_


End file.
